


Fireworks

by AccioInvisibilityCloak



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fake Dating, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mention of Alcoholism/Alcohol Abuse, Modern AU, Oblivious Enjolras, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sad Lovesick Grantaire, Very Self-Deprecating and Unhappy Grantaire, Very Unresolved Ending, alternating povs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/pseuds/AccioInvisibilityCloak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not every day, thinks Grantaire, that the angel you’re hopelessly in love with finally decides to throw himself- actually *throw* himself- into your arms.  </p><p>Of course, he can't help but catch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [websthetics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/websthetics/gifts).



> Back around Christmastime, I was taking prompts on my tumblr, and webserieswatcher suggested I write some ExR fake dating! I posted it on tumblr back then, but I waited until now to put it on AO3 because I am terrified of trying to measure up to the Les Mis fandom. There's just soooo much good fic here that I could never be as good as, but this was very fun to write and I love these dorks and I think my characterization's decent. I hope you enjoy!

          It’s not every day, thinks Grantaire, that the angel you’re hopelessly in love with finally decides to throw himself- actually _throw himself_ \- into your arms.  

He catches Enjolras, shocked, nearly falling off his chair. It’s lucky Enjolras is so thin, he thinks, not removing his arms from around the blonde. Enjolras is also a terrible actor. There’s absolutely no way anyone’s going to believe this is typical E behavior, even if he _is_ supposed to be newly in love.

“R,” Enjolras mutters directly into Grantaire’s ear, and damn if he doesn’t get actual goosebumps just from the feeling of E’s breath warm against his skin, his smooth, clear orator’s voice making R shiver. This is going to be harder than he thought.

“ _He’s here again_ ,” Enjolras hisses against R’s neck. “And the meeting’s about to start. It’s time to put the plan into action!”

 

                                                                                                         ***

_A few weeks earlier…_

         Enjolras is a very busy man. He has speeches to make, he has protests to organize, he has injustices to correct! Which is exactly why he has no time for people fawning over him. The Friends of the ABC only have the back room at Café Musain booked for an hour per week, and to E, that time is precious. So when people start coming to the meetings for reasons decidedly unrelated to social activism, Enjolras is not amused.

It started, he supposes, last year, with a strange-looking guy in an old, worn leather jacket, callused hands covered in paint stains, carrying a notebook- but though he drinks too much and speaks out of turn and disagrees with everything Enjolras says, seemingly on principle, the fact is that Grantaire actually knows what he’s talking about. He’s smart, well-informed, thoughtful- even if he refuses to do anything but argue. And he’s not just a random straggler- Joly and Bossuet and Bahorel all knew him before he started coming to the meetings, so Enjolras had to let him stay.

Not so the hipster dude in the overly tight jeans, who spends an entire meeting hitting on Courfeyrac and never returns to the Musain after Courfeyrac takes him home for a night. Not so the young woman from the corrupt school newspaper, who would have tried to get them in trouble with the university board, if Gavroche hadn’t stolen her notepad as she left.  

Not so the guy Courf has taken to calling Enjolras’ very own fanboy.

 

         They’ve figured out that despite being a freshman, the guy is somehow in one of Enjolras’ poli-sci classes, which must have been where he noticed him, how he found out about the ABC. He’s not the only straggler they’ve gotten at meetings lately, but he’s easily the most disruptive.

The fanboy’s only input seems to be unwarranted praise of Enjolras’ leadership, and empty promises of his devotion to the cause. Enjolras knows this devotion is bullshit because the kid hardly participates. He doesn’t seem interested in getting to know anyone else in the group, and won’t commit to any dates for upcoming ABC demonstrations- which, at any rate, are too important, and occasionally too dangerous, for the Amis to risk bringing anyone who isn’t serious about them.

Instead, the interloper sits there, right in the front row, waiting until the meetings are over and he can try and corner Enjolras. He and his friends are forever encroaching on Enjolras’ personal space, fawning over him and distracting everyone else from the important work they’re doing. Enjolras is infuriated, and the flirting also happens to make him extremely uncomfortable. He doesn’t understand how anyone could be more interested in his face than in dismantling government corruption and ensuring the rights of the disenfranchised- and he _hates_ strangers in his personal space.

         He’s tried everything to convert the fanboy and his friends to the cause, and he’s failed every time. If they’re not contributing anything, he doesn’t want them coming to meetings at all, but they won’t listen to him. Switching locations between the Corinth and the Musain is no help- both cafes are public places, and he can’t kick the kids out of them. Enjolras has talked all this over with Combeferre and Courfeyrac a thousand times. There doesn’t seem to be any way to make the disruptive group of freshmen leave, and the three of them are all out of ideas- except for one.

That’s why, with some reluctance, Enjolras ends up cornering Grantaire in their meeting room at the Musain, after this week’s meeting.

 

                                                                                        ***

 

               Grantaire, for his part, is completely caught off-guard when he feels a sharp tap on his shoulder as he’s gathering his flask and sketchbook and pens back into his shoulder-bag and preparing to leave the Musain, and looks up to see the breathtaking activist leader hovering over his table. He’s even more surprised when Enjolras speaks.

“Listen, Grantaire, I’ve been thinking- I need a boyfriend.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shoot upwards and he laughs, utterly bemused. “Excuse me?”

“These new people who keep coming to the meetings and distracting everybody, they don’t care about social justice at all, no matter how many times I lecture them. They don’t care about all the suffering and oppression in the world, they just care about my hair!” Enjolras’ lip curls in disgust at the idea of placing any importance on such petty whims.

“They care about your…” Grantaire laughs again.

“My hair! Courfeyrac says its ‘golden lustre’ was bound to get me in trouble at some point. He says that and my ‘angelic physique’-” Enjolras wrinkles his nose at the phrasing – “and my excellent oratory skills were bound to create at least a few one-sided romantic attachments. I can’t imagine why, but I think he must be right.”

“Courfeyrac told you that,” Grantaire repeats. “And what exactly does a boyfriend have to do with it?”

“Well, he simply feels that we might not be pestered quite so much by these people if I were, ah, off the market,” Enjolras admits.

“So join a dating site, Apollo,” Grantaire says shortly. “Download an app. I’m sure you’d have no trouble getting people to swipe right.”

(He knows full well that Enjolras still uses a crappy old flip phone, which he hardly ever checks, but it’s the principle of the thing.)

 

Enjolras frowns. “Actually, I was hoping… _you_ would be willing to date me? Just until this situation is dealt with.”

Grantaire’s pretty sure he can feel himself stop breathing at this exact moment. Did Enjolras just…? Oh, he’s going to _kill_ Courfeyrac for this.

Enjolras fidgets, nervously folding and unfolding and refolding his hands in front of him, waiting for an answer. _Say something_ , Grantaire’s brain demands of him, and he forces himself to snap out of it.

“Courf’s big solution to your fanboy problem is to ask _me_ to be your fake boyfriend? _Me_?” He asks, when his voice decides to make a return at last.

“Relationships just… aren’t my forte, so I thought, well, the easiest thing is just to make one up. No feelings involved, I promise,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire snorts at this, but not, he knows, for the reason Enjolras thinks.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and tries again. “I wouldn’t ask this of you, but it’s just that everyone else is kind of… taken.”

“Okay, ouch.” Grantaire doesn’t need any more reminding of how often he ends up a third or even fourth wheel around the ABC these days, and especially not from Enjolras, who is just as single as he is.

“No, it’s true! Apparently the ABC has been the cause of a lot of relationships. I never realized how quickly everyone was pairing off- or grouping off, I suppose,” Enjolras amends, thinking of Joly and Bossuet and their girlfriend, Musichetta.

“Courfeyrac-”

“Would be thrilled to help me out, I’m sure, except that he’s just started dating Jean Prouvaire, you know that. Combeferre has a date with Eponine tonight, and I think Bahorel’s still seeing that lady, the one with the laugh, you know, and I just-”

“What about Feuilly? He’s single,” Grantaire points out, a little desperately. This is _such_ a bad idea, and still he can feel himself being drawn in.

“Yeah, but it’s _Feuilly_. He’s- he’s great. He’s amazing, the best of any of us, but I can’t ask him to _date_ me. I just don’t see him that way.”

Grantaire grins despite himself, realizing the implication of this. Enjolras winces. “I mean… It’s not that I… I just don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.”

“Oh,” says Grantaire, his smile slipping. “Sure. And that won’t be a problem here, will it?” He gestures between them with a glare.

“I didn’t mean that,” Enjolras protests. “Grantaire, of course we’re… we’re friends. And I’m asking you a favor, as a friend- please, R, will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Grantaire has been dreaming of hearing that sentence for so long, but never like this. He knows what he should say. He knows he should keep his dignity, but he can’t be surprised that he’s only good enough for a fake date, nothing more. He’s surprised Enjolras deems him worthy of even that much.

 

           “It’s just for another week or two, until this all blows over. This guy will see that I’m with someone else, so he’ll get bored and leave me alone, and he’ll take this… _Fan Club_ of his with him. And then everything can go back to normal,” Enjolras rambles, staring straight ahead at a spot on the wall behind Grantaire. He sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, R. You don’t have to do this. Just… forget I ever asked.”

He turns to leave, and Grantaire can’t stand to let him walk away. He reaches out, clasps Enjolras’ forearm, and the other man spins to face him again. The look of mingled embarrassment and hope on his blushing marble face is just too much.

Hating himself, Grantaire forces a smile and says, “Yes.”

“W-what?” Enjolras splutters.

For the life of him, Grantaire has never heard Enjolras _splutter_ before. He had almost thought E was incapable of anything other than perfectly composed, measured speech. Even when he yells, the revolutionary’s voice is always perfectly steady- except for now. R sighs against the flutter of warmth spreading in his gut- even when he’s completely frazzled, Enjolras is still beautiful.

And Grantaire is still pathetic. What else is new?

 

“I said, _yes_ ,” he repeats. “I will be your fake boyfriend for the next two weeks, or until Fanboy decides to get a life.” (And yes, Grantaire can appreciate the irony of that statement, coming from him.)

“Thank you so much,” Enjolras says, heaving a sigh of relief. “Listen, do you have a ride tonight? Can I take you home?”

“Moving a little fast, aren’t we?” Grantaire smirks as he’s rewarded with another blush blooming across Enjolras’ cheeks, staining them as red as his button-down. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

“I am going to do something to repay you, Grantaire. Just name it,” says Enjolras. “Really, I can’t thank you enough. I guess… I’ll text you?”

“You know where to find me,” Grantaire waves him off, waiting until the other man is gone before heading out himself, in search of a cold beer or five.

         Enjolras - _Enjolras_ \- is now his _boyfriend_. It’s like some weird dream. Enjolras, dating him, Grantaire. Enjolras, holding his hand and looking at him affectionately, in public. Enjolras, telling people how happy they are together, telling people they’re in love. Enjolras, never really meaning a single word of it, because how could he?

Enjolras, Grantaire’s fake boyfriend. Before they know it, he’ll be R’s fake _ex_ -boyfriend. That’s that. The closest he’ll ever get to being with the man he’s been infatuated with for ages, and he’s disgusted with himself for agreeing to it. For still caring enough to agree. For the fact that- if he really has to spend the next two weeks telling people he’s in love with Gabriel Agustin Enjolras-  Grantaire won’t be lying at all.

He’s not nearly drunk enough for this.

 

                                                                                                                 ***

 

         So that’s how he wound up here, Grantaire muses, with Enjolras in his arms, whispering in his ear as Bahorel wolf-whistles.

“Shut up,” Grantaire calls, and Bahorel winks as he heads into the meeting room.

The past few days have been some kind of torture, Grantaire thinks. Their friends, of course, were all unbearably smug when they heard the news that he and Enjolras were finally together. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the only ones who knew the truth, and it had to stay that way, for the sake of the plan.

Still, the gleam of joy in Eponine’s eyes when she’d hugged Grantaire and pronounced that finally, the two of them were both happy with their respective loves, and their pining days over- it hurt like hell. The way Courf kept making eyes at him and Enjolras, like he was actually hoping this scheme would matchmake them for real- Grantaire could hardly stand it. Claps on the shoulder from his friends, Jehan’s offering to dedicate a new sonnet to their love, Cosette’s delight and the astonishment on Marius’ face when he found out- they’re all so goddamn _happy_ for him, and all of it is just one big lie.

Grantaire is living a lie, pretending to be with Enjolras, and the worst part is that, in some messed up way, he’s actually enjoying it. He’s savoring every little moment he gets to spend with Enjolras, even as he knows it means absolutely nothing to E. Every night he goes home alone, hating the truth, wishing he could live in this bubble forever, pretending his love actually wants him, too. Every morning, he wakes up to a text from Enjolras, outlining the plan for the day, and every morning, he texts back with a lopsided smiley face, and forces himself out of bed to embrace the lie. All he can think of is how soon it will be over, how little time before he loses Enjolras once more. _Pathetic._

 

               Enjolras, for his part, wishes he had never asked Grantaire to do this. It’s a ridiculous plan, and he’s surprised at how quickly their friends have fallen for it. It isn’t as if they’re particularly natural as a couple. All the touching and hand-holding is incredibly awkward, and he finds himself blushing, feeling _off_ , somehow, whenever Grantaire is around. There’s an uncomfortable gnawing in his gut; E blames it on guilt, because he’s noticed that, whenever he’s not acting like he’s madly in love with Enjolras, Grantaire’s easy grin just drops, and a flash of misery appears on his face, until something distracts him again and he can put up the happily-in-love façade once more.

Grantaire must hate him for this, Enjolras thinks, even as he’s burying his face in the other man’s shoulder. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol and paint, his arms strong and firm, wrapped dutifully around Enjolras’ slim torso. It’s a miracle they haven’t broken character yet, given away the charade. Those creepy, flirty ‘fans’ are still hanging around, though, so they can’t give up their pretense just yet.

Enjolras isn’t particularly used to physical touch, except from Courfeyrac, who’s a master cuddler and one of the few people Enjolras is comfortable being that close to- and still, he’s almost a little disappointed to have to pull away from his fake boyfriend’s embrace. Grantaire, of course, looks relieved to be apart from him. Grantaire can hardly stand him, he’s always known that. He just never particularly cared what the artist thought of him… until now. There’s a strange weight, an unpleasantness, in Enjolras’ chest as he turns away to start setting up for the meeting. Suddenly, a large, rough hand captures Enjolras’ own- Grantaire, entering the meeting room by his side, offering a put-upon smile as their friends start snickering again.

The fanboy and _his_ friends, Enjolras is gratified to notice, look more than a little disappointed. He conducts the rest of the meeting with Grantaire at his right hand, and for the first time in a long time, the artist doesn’t even lose himself in his sketchbook, just sits there with his eyes fixed on Enjolras, listening to the discussion and even chiming in with a few decent points and ideas. In spite of himself, Enjolras is impressed.

 

               Spending time with Grantaire has been a bit of a revelation. Enjolras had insisted they strive for realism in this relationship, which means seeing each other outside of meetings. This has been more of a negotiation than Enjolras expected, somehow. He knew Grantaire had his own life, but he had never realized just how busy the cynic kept himself before now- going to class, boxing one night a week, helping Eponine look after Gav, picking up the occasional shift tending bar at one of his old haunts, and of course, working on his art.

Now that he’s having to fit a boyfriend into his days, Enjolras realizes his own schedule is actually pretty sparse. Apart from class, ABC meetings, and planning demonstrations, he really doesn’t do much. He doesn’t have any sort of hobby, unless curling up with political texts or a good biography at the end of the day counts. Grantaire comes over a few times, makes tea and just watches as Enjolras studies or rehearses his next speech, sending Grantaire the occasional sour look as the cynic calls critical comments about his work with a shit-eating grin. Enjolras knows that some people think he’s boring, too straight-laced and disciplined to a fault. He appreciates that Grantaire seems willing to sit with him and just talk, and he doesn’t seem to think that’s any less fun than going out would be. Enjolras has grown fond of their conversations, even as new a thing as they are.

              Lately, though, Enjolras has been expanding his horizons. He hung out with Grantaire and Gavroche for an afternoon, after the thirteen-year-old got off school. They’d played video games (Enjolras was positively awful at all of them, to Gav’s delight), and he scolded Grantaire for feeding the kid too much junk food. Another day, Enjolras went and watched a boxing match of Grantaire’s– and _hated_ it, spending most of it hiding behind a book. And it’s not as if he couldn’t look because Grantaire was the one up there getting punches thrown at him. After all, he’s seen Grantaire bloodied and bruised before, after rallies and demonstrations gone bad and even the occasional barfight. He’s not worried about R, he’s _not_. He’s seen worse. He just… he just had studying to do. He hopes Grantaire didn’t notice.

He’s even spending more time with the rest of the Amis now. Grantaire is always at the center of all the social plans the group makes together, the ones Enjolras is used to taking a rain check for– R knows all the fun and exciting things to do in the city, and he’s often the mastermind behind a lot of the capers that he, Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel always seem to get into. Again, Enjolras can’t help but to be impressed with his boyfriend’s many talents and secrets.

He’s starting to worry about the drinking, but he doesn’t know how to even begin to broach the subject, so he just tries to keep an extra sharp eye on Grantaire. He knows Grantaire’s friends have talked to him about his problem, and that Grantaire refuses to listen as long as he’s functional. Still, Enjolras feels a tinge of shame for never having done anything more than scold Grantaire for coming to meetings drunk. Grantaire has mostly stopped doing that, but that doesn’t mean the problem has magically gone away, and Enjolras should have seen that. Enjolras should have taken all this more seriously.

He should have taken _Grantaire_ more seriously, because as wild as he is, his ideas are really good. Since this fake dating thing started, and Enjolras has been forced to spend time with him, he’s started to realize that Grantaire doesn’t argue with him just to get under his skin and waste his time. Grantaire’s criticism is genuine, and he seems to enjoy the actual conversations and political debates and strategic analyses involved in the group’s activities. He’s really very intelligent, thinks Enjolras, glancing over at Grantaire, who meets his eye, grinning.

             Enjolras, without thinking, smiles back, a strange warmth spreading through him, and for a long moment, he falls silent. He feels almost… sad, at the idea of breaking up with Grantaire in a few short days. Even if it is only pretend.

 

            “Um, Enjolras?” asks Combeferre after an awkward pause.

“Oh, fearless leader!” Courfeyrac shouts, and Combeferre shoots him a look. “Earth to Enjolras!”

Enjolras immediately looks away from Grantaire, shakes his head to snap himself out of his reverie, blinking out at the roomful of students.

“Wow, you really do have it bad,” Courf teases. “Thought we’d lost you there.”

“I will never back down from the cause, and neither should any of you,” Enjolras says, focusing in on the meeting again. “No distractions!”

Bahorel snorts. Courf grins knowingly. “We don’t have time for nonsense,” snaps Enjolras.

Grantaire says nothing, just opens his sketchbook, shaggy dark hair falling into his eyes as he starts to draw, thinking that things will be easier if Enjolras doesn’t have to look at him. He doesn’t even need to look up anymore- he has this room, and everyone in it, completely memorized.

He sneaks a few glances anyway.

 

                                                                                                                            ***

 

             On the plus side, at least the plan’s working. Enjolras’ fanboy looks furious.

This doesn’t stop the boy from cornering Enjolras after the meeting as usual, flanked by a girl with bright red hair and another guy in a t-shirt advertising some band Enjolras has never heard of. Enjolras is trying to pack up his notes, but the girl with the red hair picks up a sheaf of paper and starts to read it. Enjolras seizes it, causing a small tear in the paper, and stuffs it into his bag.

“So,” says the original fanboy, adjusting a bright red blazer. “Is it true?”

“Is it true that this country has a serious problem with the oppression of-” Enjolras starts.

“That you’re dating that loser?” The guy in the red blazer casts a dark look at Grantaire, who is waiting nearby for Enjolras. Sensing his cue, Grantaire saunters up and threads an arm around Enjolras’ waist.

Enjolras stares at him, shocked into silence by the touch.

            “Hey, babe,” Grantaire improvises, trying not to laugh at how odd the word sounds coming from him. He removes his hand, and Enjolras nods, an almost imperceptible thank you. “These guys have questions about your politics or something?”

“You three are new to the ABC society,” Enjolras says to the group. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been introduced to my _boyfriend_ , Grantaire.” He puts his own arm carefully around Grantaire this time, meeting his eyes to make sure they’re on the same page. Grantaire nods, then turns to Blazer Fanboy.

“It’s an impressive little group we have here,” he says proudly, gesturing around the room with the arm that hasn’t just replaced itself around Enjolras’ waist. “All Enjolras’ doing, of course.”

Grantaire sounds for all the world like an affectionate, bragging boyfriend, and Blazer Boy’s face falls as Grantaire leans in to kiss Enjolras on the cheek.

Enjolras, misreading the motion spectacularly, turns his head at the last second and smushes his face directly into Grantaire’s own.

 

            Grantaire hadn’t known it was even possible to knock teeth with another person when both your lips were closed, but that’s about the best description there is for what’s just happened. Enjolras’ lips crush against his own for about a second before Grantaire jerks back in pain. Enjolras is frozen, horrified. Blazer Boy is looking skeptical, and Grantaire realizes there’s only one thing he can do to sell this. He curses the entire cold, empty universe for making this moment happen this way, and in front of all their friends, too. _So_ fucking _be it_ , he thinks.

He turns to Enjolras and presses their lips together a second time. This kiss is softer, gentle, less catastrophic by far. Enjolras kisses back, his lips moving awkwardly, unsure what to do with his hands or when to break away, or how to ever think about anything but this again.

 

             Grantaire feels it through every atom of his body- _he is kissing Enjolras_. Enjolras is kissing him _back,_ clumsy, almost enthusiastic, like he -impossibly- wants this as much as Grantaire does. It’s mostly chaste- their lips barely even open at all- but it feels like _fireworks_. Kisses never actually feel like fireworks, but this- _Merde_. Fireworks, Grantaire thinks. Beautiful, wild, and entirely for show. Fading away at a moment’s notice.

It’s Grantaire who finally pulls back, after a moment or two. _Enjolras tastes like peppermint_ , he thinks clumsily. _It’s not even winter_.

 

            “That was…” murmurs Enjolras. He releases Grantaire and brings his hand up to touch his lips, now even redder than usual. They can hear Courfeyrac cheering and Bahorel’s wolf-whistle fading again in the background. Enjolras stands frozen in utter confusion, the bitter taste of ashes and beer on his breath, his entire body still abuzz with the embrace, the skin around his jaw bearing a psychosomatic itch from the scrape of R’s dark stubble against his own smooth chin. He didn’t know kisses could _feel_ like that… like the same heat he keeps feeling when he looks at Grantaire, only stronger… oh.

           “Anyway,” Grantaire says to the three freshmen, all of whom look distinctly put out by this development. “What did you all need?”

The three conveniently forget their questions and make their excuses to leave.

“Wow,” says Enjolras, still in shock. Grantaire steps back, shrugging off E’s arm.

“Looks like the plan’s working,” Grantaire says, trying his best to sound perfectly normal, and not like he just kissed the man he loves under false pretenses and his heart is being slowly excised from his chest. “You won’t be needing me anymore, before long.”

“That’s not- I don’t- Grantaire-” Enjolras tries, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off and turns away.

“Look, I should get going,” Grantaire says with a pained sort of smile. “See you later, Enj.”

              When he utters the nickname, it sounds like _ange,_ the little endearment as true and as false as everything they’ve shared these past weeks. But fireworks fade, he reminds himself.

Grantaire kisses Enjolras once more, just a peck on the cheek- must keep up the pretense- and almost literally _runs_ for the door, leaving a startled Enjolras (not to mention most of the rest of Les Amis) staring after him, astonished, wishing he hadn’t gone.


End file.
